


Slow

by the_Pop_Culturist



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Some things take time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 17:03:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19873036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Pop_Culturist/pseuds/the_Pop_Culturist
Summary: I felt so bad after the last story I had to write something with a happy ending. Hope you enjoy.





	Slow

He thinks he’s being quiet, and in truth he is, but for someone with her honed senses, he might as well be breaking glass. It’s a struggle for her to reach REM sleep, but these last weeks she’s done better than she has in a long time. The reason why is fairly evident.

She finds herself watching him sleep at night; watching the way his body jerks, the way the sparks suddenly appear and jump from his body. He doesn’t even realize its happening. It’s just another thing that’s different about him now. They sting, but she’s felt so much worse that they barely register

What does register is when he cries out at night; names she doesn’t know or recognize; most likely people he couldn’t save. He stays quiet for the most part; about where he went, where he’s been. Maybe he doesn’t fully understand it either. She wants to know. He tells her it’s better if you don’t.

It doesn’t take a detective to deduce wherever he ended up there were people in need, and he’s always played the hero, he just can’t help himself. That’s what started all of this in the first place.

It’s been no picnic for her either; graduate school, part time job, raising a niece, occasionally saving Star City with Ollie. Lian’s too young to fully understand why her mommy’s gone and Auntie Mouse lives with them, but she’s happy and well-adjusted and that’s all that matters. She hasn’t given up on her sister, but with each passing day it’s getting harder _ **.**_

But that’s not the only parental role she’s adopted. She’s been playing den mother to Violet, Brion, Terra, and Forager for months now. Every time she leaves the life, it comes knocking at her door shortly after. It’s not all bad, she’s missed her friends and cherishes the time they spend together, but the rush she once felt when putting on the mask has long since passed.

And then there’s Will.

Wally knows about _that_ night, the one when she and Will confused loneliness for something more.

Of course she told him, there are no secrets between them when it comes to matters of the heart.

It was just one night, not so much a mistake, but more a case of misplaced feelings. She doesn’t have regrets, neither does Will. It happened; they talked, and moved past it; their friendship being more important than to let one night define them.

Wally says he understands. He was dead and she was alive. Life goes on. Morning comes, it has no choice. His words.

And yet despite his denials, she knows deep down it bothers him, it hurts, and in turn it hurts her. He doesn’t blame she or Will; they did nothing wrong. He blames himself. If he hadn’t made such a reckless choice they would never have found themselves in that situation to begin with, but yet again if he hadn’t made that choice, no one would be alive to debate it. It’s an unsolvable equation, and she knows how she would feel if their roles were reversed. In time she hopes it will pass, for both of them.

He pulls a t-shirt from the hamper and quietly leaves the room. Moments later she follows behind silently, keeping a safe distance as he enters the kitchen. She can’t thank Will enough for taking Lian to Ollie and Dinah’s for the week. Will knows they need time.

Remaining in the shadows of the pre-dawn morning, she watches him. He’s cooking her breakfast. It’s a sweet gesture; a call back to a happier time, but he’s struggling; she can see it.

So many times lately she’s walked into a room to see him staring blankly in the distance, lost in his thoughts. He quickly recovers and tries to play it off, but he’s always been a terrible liar. He’s lost and he’s afraid. He’s worried she’ll leave or perhaps he will her; one by choice, one not. Between her time undercover and his demise in the Arctic, both scenarios have happened before. He’s afraid they’ll happen again.

He needs to talk to someone, but there are very few people out there even remotely qualified to guide him and give him answers to question he doesn’t know how to ask. What do you say to a Lazarus?

He’s always been insecure; he’d be the first to admit it. Back in the day, she tired quickly of his annoying clownish façade, until she learned of the boy hiding behind it, the one that would occasionally step out from behind the makeup and say something so kind, so comforting, that it would leave her speechless. It was like meeting a whole new person. She wanted to know that boy. She fell in love with that boy.

He’d moved past his embarrassment and shame of being the slowest of the three long ago, sadly in the end that’s what led to his demise. That’s all changed now, and no one quite knows why. He’s now the fastest by far, probably the fastest man alive and he’s afraid to run, afraid of this new energy inside him.

That’s all speculation on her part; it’s something else he doesn’t share. He doesn’t share a lot of things. She won’t push, they’ll come out in time, or they won’t. He’s alive, he’s here, and that’s all that matters.

He’s uneasy around her sometimes, she can feel it. There are times he looks at her and his eyes water. When his hand gently strokes her cheek, he’s careful not to go too far, to assume too much. He doesn’t want to move too fast or take things for granted. Two years is a very long time. People change. He wouldn’t have wanted her to wait, to stop living. Now all he can do is worry about the ways he might lose her again. She wants him to touch her, to kiss her, to trust her: to love without fear. How long will that take?

In the kitchen, he’s being slow, methodical. Treating the omelet like a meticulously controlled experiment; always the scientist. Carefully cracking the eggs; taking the whisk and breaking up the yokes, but his mind is elsewhere, she can tell. When the whisk begins to spin a little too fast and the sparks begin to form, he grabs at his hand, slowing things down.

He breathes in a defeated sigh as he stares at the counter, his feet, the floor; eggs splattered everywhere. It’s going to take time to adjust to his new reality. He just hopes he has it, and there’s no strange cosmic force waiting to pull him back to the other side. That would be his luck.

Grabbing the paper towels from the counter, he leans down to clean up the accident when from behind he feels her warm arms wrap around his waist. It takes a moment for him to relax before leaning into her.

“I um…I’m sorry,” he laments, shaking his head. “I screwed up again.”

“They’re just eggs Wally,” she whispers, kissing the back of his neck. “It’ll be fine.”

“I used to be able to do this,” he sighs.

“You will again, until then we’ll do it together.”

He closes his eyes and nods, but she’s not convinced. She gently spins him around, placing her palm on his chin and bringing his eyes to hers. They’re watering again, crying out for help.

“It’ll take time Wally and that’s all right. We’re in no hurry. We’re just going to take it nice ...and slow.”

He appreciates the wordplay, the irony. “Slow,” he sighs, “yeah, I’d like that.”

With those words, she brings him in close, her lips gently brushing his. It doesn’t last as long as she’d hope, but it’s a start.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers, planting light kisses down his neck, “and neither are you. I love you.”

He smiles and for once it’s a genuine one, not forced. And for the first time since he’s been back he believes her, he believes everything will be all right.

**Author's Note:**

> I felt so bad after the last story I had to write something with a happy ending. Hope you enjoy.


End file.
